Rebirth
by Gertrude2034
Summary: Stacy has just left House, and a raging snowstorm outside barely matches the bleakness of his state of mind. Then House’s pregnant neighbor knocks on his door. Will he help her? And what realizations will he come to? House/OC. Language and adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This story is set before the series started, after the infarction, and just after Stacy left. I have made the assumption that House was already working at PPTH when he had the infarction, but hadn't formed the Diagnostic department yet. Needless to say, House is in a lot of pain and is at his darkest and most miserable.

Please note that, unlike most of my stories, this is not a romance. It's not a long story, really just a lengthy one-shot -- I'll be posting it in four parts. Thanks for reading!

--

* * *

"Uh, is Stacy here?"

She was hoping Stacy would have answered the door. Hoping that he might not even be home. No such luck.

"What, you one of her little charity cases?" he sneered. He leaned heavily against the door and Kelly didn't need the smell of bourbon wafting from him to know that he was drunk.

He narrowed his eyes to peer at her jaw line and Kelly's hand flew to her face, an automatic response. She'd forgotten she had no makeup on and her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, so it provided no camouflage either. The bruises were almost gone, invisible if she put concealer on, but without any foundation they were still a colorful reminder of last week's drama.

"I'm Kelly, I'm 2D." She gave him a small smile, trying to be polite. She really needed his help, after all, drunk or not. He watched her hand as she dropped it back by her side and Kelly knew he could see it was shaking. From the bone-deep cold or almost paralyzing fear – she wasn't sure.

"More like 36D," he leered.

Before she could stop herself, Kelly looked down at her body, following his gaze. It was a pointless comment: she was wearing at least four layers, topped with a huge winter coat buttoned up to her neck and a bulky scarf. No curves at all were visible – not even the big one at the front. She looked like the Michelin Man. Felt like it too.

"I was hoping I could speak to Stacy. Is she home?" she tried again.

"Nope."

"When will she be back?"

"The twelfth of never."

"Oh." Well that explained why she hadn't seen Stacy around lately. Not that they were close enough that Stacy would inform her that she was leaving. Just friendly neighbors – Stacy always asked after her health when they met in the hallway or near the mailboxes.

At hearing Stacy was no longer around, Kelly's anxiety went up a notch – something she hardly thought possible.

He started to close the door in her face and Kelly put a hand out to stop him. "I . . . I really needed to talk to Stacy," she said, her voice quavering.

He sighed exasperatedly. "Well, you can't. She's not here. Won't be gracing us with her presence this evening. Or ever again."

"Yeah, but—" She fell silent. _How to explain?_

He frowned. "Waddya want? Having this door open is letting in the cold. It's freezing out there. Talk or leave."

_He really was just as awful as Maria had warned_. Her fear bubbled over into babbling. "There's something wrong and my heating isn't working. I'm freezing up there and with the storm they told me they can't get a repair guy here for at least twenty-four hours, maybe longer. The 911 guy said I wasn't a real emergency. And Maria's at her daughter's place for the holidays and Frank's gone to Florida for a couple of weeks." She took a deep breath, having spoken all that without one. At least doing so had kept her from stuttering or her voice from breaking.

He looked genuinely – if drunkenly – confused. "Frank? Maria?"

"Your neighbors?" Kelly explained, starting to get exasperated. "Frank from 2A and Maria's in 2C. I'm in 2D. And you're in 2B – and the only one home tonight with heating that works." The warmth radiating out into the corridor was tantalizing, and Kelly could glimpse the flickering shadows of a wood fire. Her apartment didn't even have a fireplace, she rued. If it had, maybe she wouldn't have to be begging favors from this shmuck. Although even if she _did_ have an open fire, she'd still have a problem on her hands. Worst snow storm in a century, so the TV reporters were saying. Icy and blocked roads preventing any emergency services getting through for several hours, the 911 operator had rudely told her. Once she'd finally gotten through.

"Frank and Maria, huh? What do they do?"

For someone who'd wanted to close the door in her face a moment ago, the guy was suddenly very chatty. He was playing with her, Kelly realized, but right now he held all the power. She had little choice but to play along. "Frank's retired. Maria works in a bookshop at the university."

Kelly was frantically running through back-up plans in her head. Nope, this was it. This was absolutely her last go-to option. She supposed she could try the building next door, but she didn't actually know if she could make the few steps required out there in the icy, howling wind. There was always retreat, she guessed, go back upstairs and just pile on the blankets and hope for the best. But, no. Someone – no matter how awful – was better than no one, right?

_Don't stress Gumby_, she whispered internally.

"And what about you?" A faint, grim amusement shone in his eyes and Kelly gave brief thought to what sort of breakup he and Stacy might have had. He didn't have bruises, so it couldn't have been as bad as her own. Unless Stacy did. Nah, Kelly corrected herself silently, she couldn't see the elegant, mannered woman anywhere near domestic violence of any kind.

"Look, I don't mean to intrude, but could I p-possibly come inside? I'm really cold."

He folded his arms, still leaning against the door jamb for balance. He was wearing jeans, a dark blue t-shirt and a paler blue shirt that looked as if it had never seen an iron. His hair was sticking up all over the place and he clearly hadn't shaved for several days. If she'd seen him on the street, she'd have avoided walking near him.

"Tell me what you do first." His manner was halfway between irritated and interested.

"I'm a-a-a bookkeeper at a law firm." Her shivering had started to become violent enough to interfere with speech. Mostly because of the cold. Mostly.

"You and Stacy work together, huh?"

"What? No." Now it was Kelly's turn to be confused. Maria had said the couple in 2B were a lawyer and a doctor. She'd just always assumed that the rude asshole was the lawyer and sweet and polite Stacy was the doctor. It matched to her personal experience. But learning that it was the other way around made her almost dizzy. With relief. It wasn't _Stacy_ she wanted after all, it was _him_.

"So what, you've done cases together or something? How do you know Stacy?"

"I'm your neighbor, remember?" Her relief was short-lived. What help could he be even if he was a doctor? He was barely sober enough to stand up straight.

"And you want me to fix your heating?" he asked, blinking slowly.

"No. I mean, unless you can. Can you?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so. I just need to be somewhere warm." That was enough for now, Kelly thought. She'd bring out the other reason she needed help only if he refused. Or once she was inside and was completely sure she was right.

_We'll be fine Gumby, somehow, I promise you._

He begrudgingly held the door open and let her step inside. "You can come in for a while. Just until you get warm. But I'm watching TV and I don't want to be disturbed."

Kelly was shivering violently now, her whole body wracked with shaking. "I-I-I won't disturb you." She reached in and pulled a slim novel from her pocket she'd had the foresight to bring. Funny because she hadn't brought anything else she really might need.

He closed the door behind her and then turned away, limping over to the one sofa in the room, making her realize that his balance issues might not be entirely down to alcohol consumption. Belatedly she remembered the other news Maria had passed on the last time they'd spoken: the guy in 2B had recently had some kind of injury to his leg. Maria had been hazy on the details, but said that he was apparently in a lot of pain.

Kelly had been pretty caught up in her own dramas the past few weeks, so whatever had happened in apartment 2B had passed her by, although she had heard raised voices at nights sometimes. When that had happened, she couldn't help wondering what had drawn the two of them together in the first place – his pain might be an excuse now, but he'd always been a rude so-and-so.

Putting those thoughts to one side, Kelly took a few further steps inside and looked around. She had never been in the apartment before, but hers, one floor directly above, had an identical floor plan. Only this guy clearly had money to buy expensive furnishings, artwork, even a baby grand. Nice. Quite a difference to the second-hand, threadbare furnishings in her own place. Although at least she had _two_ sofas.

He stretched out full length on the single couch, reclining in the position he'd probably been in before she'd made him get up and answer the door – complete with a glass of whisky sitting on his chest. He made no attempt to take her coat, invite her to sit down or any other niceties. Kelly wasn't much into chivalry – she could open her own door – but there _was_ basic politeness. And given her current state, he could have offered her a place on the sofa. A chair even. Even total strangers gave her a seat on the bus occasionally.

Looking around the room, Kelly wondered where she _could_ sit down. The piano stool seemed to be the only other option – and that wasn't going to be comfortable for very long. In the end she settled for the floor near the windows – a long radiator panel there probably made it the warmest place in the room anyway, apart from right in front of the open fire. But she could see the fire from there, even had a glimpse of the TV screen. And she could just see the top of her host's head – she could keep an eye on him and he couldn't see her. Which was probably all very well.

Getting down on the floor was a struggle, made even more difficult by her many layers, but she had to get a little heat into her freezing body before she was ready to take even one of them off.

"There we go Gumby," she whispered to herself, careful that he couldn't overhear. She didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with him thinking she was a lunatic.

It was pure bliss being surrounded by warmth again. She held her hands as close to the radiator as possible without burning them – they were so numb she was finding it difficult to judge temperature. For long moments she just sat, eyes closed, breathing slowly and trying to bring her shivering under control. She tried hard to blank her mind, not to think about anything else, just have a few minutes of peace and ignorance. Pretend she wasn't nauseated by her excitement and terror about what the next few hours might hold.

Slowly, piece by piece, she took off the coat, then the jacket, then the sweater. Until finally she was wearing what she'd put on that morning: thick leggings, a loose-fitting jersey dress and a wool cardigan. Everything was black, except the cardigan which had green stems and red roses embroidered on it, trailing up each panel in the front.

She created a little nest out of her discarded clothing and leaned against the wall, surprised to find she was quite comfortable. Well, as comfortable as she could be, given the circumstances. She scrunched up the sweater into a little ball and pressed it into the small of her back, relieving some of the tension there. She grabbed her book and lost herself in a couple of chapters while the TV blared – some sport that Kelly hadn't bothered to look hard enough to identify. She shifted every few minutes, readjusting her cramping back when the pain peaked, but she kept her movements small, her breathing quiet and he didn't seem to notice her at all.

Unfortunately it wasn't long before her body demanded his peace be disturbed.

"Uh, do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Calling out to him, Kelly felt a little ridiculous, like a disgraced pet or something, banished to the corner of the room. But just because he had no manners whatsoever didn't mean she had to stoop to his level. It had only been a matter of time – not very much time these days – until she'd need the bathroom and a drink of water. She figured she could do both if Mr Smarmy Lord And Master here gave permission for her to leave her little hovel in the corner.

_Which she should be grateful for_, she reminded herself. He could have just not let her in. And she'd be sitting upstairs slowly turning into an ice block. Gumby too.

He grunted and waved a hand towards the corridor.

She figured that was approval, so she got up carefully and padded out of the living room, hushed and inconspicuous as possible. If she could just stay quiet, mouse-like, in the corner until the storm was over and the roads were clear then everything would be fine.

The clear evidence that everything would _not_ be fine struck her twice.

First in the bathroom when removing her leggings and panties let her know that she'd either not been quick enough to the bathroom or some other fluid had leaked from her. Quite a lot of it. She had no choice but to use one his towels, making him a silent promise that she'd buy a new one. It was really just confirmation of her suspicions – the growing heavy pulling in her belly had been getting worse all day. Bad enough to call 911 when she'd heard the weather report. She still remembered the exasperated tone of the operator. "_You either are in labor or you're not. And if you're not, then you're wasting my time when I could be attending to real emergencies! Have you seen the weather out there lady?_" Feeling embarrassed and ashamed of herself, Kelly had hung up.

The second time was when she walked back out into the living room to find him twisted around looking at her with an extremely displeased expression.

"You're pregnant." His tone was accusing.

"Yes."

"You're very pregnant."

"Yes. Thirty nine weeks yesterday."

"And I made you sit on the floor." Not a hint of apology in his voice.

"Yes."

"You could have told me."

Trust him to make _his_ rudeness _her_ fault. But, through force of habit, Kelly apologized. "Sorry, I thought you knew. I have been living in the apartment above you for more than a year."

"How was I supposed to know? I don't take any notice of stuff here."

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew," she repeated. _And that you were just a total prick for making the pregnant lady sit on the floor in the corner. _She left that part unsaid.

He pulled his legs off the sofa, supporting one of them with his hand, and sat up. He grimaced as he did so and Kelly was reminded again that he'd suffered some injury. But that wasn't really the most important thing on her mind right then. "Um, I have other news."

"Don't tell me, you're in labor." He was staring down at his right thigh, rubbing it with his hand.

"Yeah. Sorry."

His head snapped up to look at her. "What? Fuck, really? I was kidding."

"I'm really sorry." Kelly shrunk away from his swearing. "And . . . I . . . I think I owe you a new towel. My water just broke."

His eyes skimmed over her and seemed to take note that she was no longer wearing her leggings. Or her panties, although he couldn't see that. Bizarrely he seemed instantly sober, or else his drunken behavior earlier had been an affectation, Kelly wasn't sure.

"You'd better sit on the sofa instead of the floor then," he said begrudgingly. "But get a towel first; I don't want you ruining the leather."

"I can use my coat," Kelly offered, not wanting to cause more trouble.

He rolled his eyes, making her feel that if she'd been an imposition before, now she was a pure aggravation. She went back to the bathroom and collected a fresh towel, folding it on the sofa before sitting down on top of it. Her face flamed with embarrassment: no matter how natural the cause, sitting on a towel because you were in danger of leaking on a stranger's sofa was more than a little humiliating.

He seemed just as uncomfortable as she was. He got up and began pacing around the room, rubbing his right thigh and leaning heavily on an old-fashioned cane. "So are you going to call 911?"

"I already did, from home. They told me to call back."

"What?"

"They said they had too many emergency calls and I wasn't a priority."

"That's . . ." He trailed off, muttering. "Let me try."

He picked up his cell phone and dialed as he paced, putting it on speaker so Kelly could hear.

The ring tone sounded over and over – too many times to Kelly's ears. Abruptly it switched to a recorded message. _We are currently experiencing a large volume of calls and our system is congested. We will try to answer your call as soon as possible. If you do not have a true emergency please seek assistance elsewhere so we can attend to the most urgent situations. Otherwise, please hold._

"What the fuck?"

Kelly thought for a moment he might throw the phone against the wall. The man was angry, angrier than an unanswered phone deserved. She wondered if she should feel scared about being alone with him, but then the pain gripped her again, harder than before. She sucked in a breath but otherwise held in her reaction, not wanting to attract his anger her way.

He grabbed the TV remote and flipped on the news channel.

"—_storm that meteorologists are calling 'once in a century'. All schools and universities are closed as are most public offices. Emergency services are struggling to respond due to the combination of thick ice and a new layer of heavy snow this afternoon. Police tell us that they are focusing on keeping the major roads around hospitals and fire stations clear, and that they don't expect to get to local roads for at least another twenty-four hours. People are urged to stay inside and keep warm. Back to you Michelle." _

He swore again violently as the news program returned to the studio presenter.

"Didn't you realize?" Kelly asked. "There've been warnings out all day. That's why I called earlier, even when I wasn't sure if I really was in labor."

"Why are you alone? Where's the baby daddy?" He sat down heavily again next to her.

"Hopefully burning in the boiling pits of hell," she muttered, more to herself than him.

"Nice."

"Yeah, well no less than he deserves."

"He responsible for the bruises?" He didn't look at her as he asked.

"Yep. But his were worse."

He snorted a laugh and sat back on the sofa, relaxing slightly. "Good for you."

She supposed it was, although at the time she'd been horrified, wondered where on earth she'd picked up such violent tendencies. It was completely out of character and Kelly knew she would remember Alex's startled expression for a long time to come. In the end she put it down to hormones, figuring the self-protective instinct must be heightened when you have another life inside you.

They were silent for a while, watching the news program as it relayed one storm disaster story after another. People trapped in cars, multi-car pile ups, children crushed by falling trees laden with heavy loads of snow and ice.

"Let me try something else," he said after a while. He picked up his phone again and dialed.

Kelly could just make out the voice on the other end – certainly the concerned, slightly panicked tone to it came through clearly.

"House, I was going to call, but we're being slammed in the ER – it's all hands on deck. Are you okay? Are you at home?"

"Shut up Wilson. I'm fine."

"Have you got enough food to last you? They're saying the roads are closed, but I could see about trying to get someone out to—"

"That's why I'm calling."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm _fine_. But my pregnant neighbor's in labor and she's turned up on _my_ doorstep – as if I can do anything about it."

Kelly was faintly surprised that the other voice didn't seem at all taken aback by his aggression. "Did you try 911?" the other doctor asked calmly.

"Recorded message."

"Shit, really? Okay, I'll talk to some paramedics here and see what I can do. What stage is she at?"

He looked over at her, the first time he'd properly met her eyes. She couldn't help noticing how blue they were – and how bloodshot. "How far apart are your contractions?"

"Seven or eight minutes," Kelly guessed, shrugging. She didn't have a watch and had been using the oven clock at home, so had lost track when she'd come downstairs.

"Still early stage one. Membranes have ruptured, but—" He broke off and looked at her again. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-two."

"This your first?"

She nodded.

"Wilson? There's no rush. Looks like I'm going to be stuck with her for a while." He sighed heavily and Kelly once again had the embarrassing feeling of being nothing more than an awkward and unwanted problem. Which in his eyes, of course, she was.

The two men talked a little longer, but Kelly didn't pay attention, lost in her own thoughts. She felt angry with him, probably because he was closest and most convenient. Did he think this was how she wanted things? It wasn't like she was all that keen to be stranded with her irritable and snappy neighbor in the middle of a snowstorm. She'd had plans, goddamnit! A nice, neat birthing suite with a caring and friendly midwife. Alex by her side, practicing the breathing they'd learned in class together. But that was before. Before she'd discovered Alex's betrayal – before he'd got physical when she confronted him.

The entire world was different now.

"That was a friend of mine at Princeton Plainsboro hospital," he said, breaking into Kelly's thoughts. "He's going to try to organize an ambulance for you from there."

"Great, thanks." Through her gritted teeth she knew she didn't sound at all grateful. But maybe he figured she was having a contraction, or maybe he just didn't care, because he didn't react at all.

All of a sudden he got up and started pacing around, his face a mask of pain that he didn't bother to hide. His limp was heavier and he grabbed up a vial of pills from the small table next to the sofa, tilting them up to his mouth like they were candy.

Kelly found herself feeling some sympathy towards him, although she wasn't entirely sure why. She had enough going on without needing extra emotions crowding in. Her relief at finding herself conveniently stranded with a doctor had evaporated at knowing he was a drunk – and seemingly drugged – asshole who seemed to barely care that she existed, let alone that she was scared and in pain.

Up until today she'd been excited about labor, about finally getting to meet the little guy inside she'd dubbed _Gumby_. She'd felt confident in her ability to handle it. But now the excitement was diluted by terror – a little like being on a rollercoaster that had already pulled away from the dock just when you'd decided it might be too much for you. And knowing that it was more than likely that this man was going to be with her for the ride? It was like the rollercoaster had had its safety bars removed and she just had to hang on, white knuckled, hoping to reach the end in one piece.

Well, two pieces, really, in this case.

She realized she didn't know his name.

"I'm Kelly."

"I know. You said."

She blew out a breath in frustration. "Yeah, but I don't know your name."

"Greg, Greg House."

"Nice to meet you Greg."

"I'm sure."

His voice dripped with sarcasm, but Kelly wasn't sure what it implied. That meeting him wasn't a pleasure? Or that he was sure she must be incredibly grateful to be in his presence? Because bizarrely, both were true.

--

* * *

For another hour or so, they sat watching the TV in silence. Every few minutes Kelly would bite her lip or suck in her breath, but other than that and the noise from the TV the room was quiet. At some point he got up and grabbed a laptop, sitting it on his lap, careful to ensure she couldn't see the screen.

After the silence finally got too much, Kelly broke it.

"What you looking up?" She tried to sound friendly.

"Porn." His gruff, matter-of-fact answer was enough to shut down any possibility of further conversation and the silence descended again. Now the only other sound was the occasional tap of him typing on the computer.

Another half hour passed, a stupid sitcom on the screen. It was a show Kelly hated, but she figured she had no right to ask for it to be changed. It was getting more and more uncomfortable to sit on the sofa pretending nothing was happening. The pain from her contractions was getting more intense, more difficult to ignore. She had an almost irresistible urge to get up and walk around.

"I'm going to pee," he announced. He put the laptop down on the floor. "Don't touch it. I'm downloading Dykes on Trikes."

Once she heard the bathroom door closing, Kelly shifted the computer with her foot, leaning over to look at the screen, giving in to her curiosity. Sure enough, there was an explicit and ugly screen showing naked women, motorbikes and other items Kelly didn't want to think about. But at the bottom of the screen she could see other windows were open, the tabs showing various words, some of which she didn't recognize and others that appeared to be in a foreign language. Careful to listen for the sounds that would indicate he had finished in the bathroom, she leaned over and flicked the mouse and confirmed her suspicions. They were all related to childbirth – labor, delivery positions, complications.

She didn't know whether to feel pleased or sick. At least he was taking it seriously – the very real likelihood that she'd have to give birth before help arrived and he'd have to assist. But the fact that he was researching it also worried her. A sudden thought hit her: what kind of doctor was he anyway? He could be a podiatrist for all she knew! But he'd been talking to a doctor who was working in the ER at Princeton's top hospital, from what she'd overheard. Surely if he couldn't handle it, that doctor would have said something, seemed more concerned.

She heard the sound of flushing and quickly returned the computer to the screen he'd left it on and twisted it back the way he'd set it down. She stretched back, unkinking the knots she'd given herself just from leaning sideways. And right then she was hit with the strongest contraction she'd had so far. A sharp, biting cramp that wiped any other thought from her mind. She gasped, shocked, her hands clasping her belly instinctively.

On the periphery, she was aware of him returning to the room, heading into the kitchen and opening the fridge. He pulled out a couple of bottles of water and then plonked himself back down on the couch next to her.

Kelly pulled herself back in, making a deliberate effort to restrain herself. She'd watched him for the past few hours, she could see that he was in pain and making no effort to hide it. And whether it was that, or her own embarrassment, or just a need to try to keep control of something, when everything else was totally _out_ of control, she just felt she had to keep _her_ pain inside.

He handed her a bottle of water before twisting the top of his and drinking about half of it in one go.

"No more whisky?" Kelly asked after taking a sip of water, once she was sure her breath was under control, that her voice would come out normally.

"Figure if there's a chance I have to deliver a baby, I'd try it sober. Fewer issues for my lawyers that way." Once again his tone was brittle, accusing.

"Sorry I spoiled your evening." Once again she wasn't quite sure why she was apologizing, but she said it quietly anyway.

"Yeah, 'cause I was having such a sterling night before you arrived."

The bitterness of his comment surprised her, but she had no idea what to say in response.

They fell silent again, both sipping their water.

After a few minutes, Kelly had another contraction, not as strong as the last one, but still enough to make her grit her teeth and hold her breath. After it passed she slumped back into the sofa.

He gave her a bored look. "You know, I appreciate your avoiding the screaming, but holding it all in like that isn't good for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the fact that you must be in pain and you haven't made a peep for the past two hours. It's kind of annoying me, actually."

"You're in pain too."

He sighed. "Yeah."

"So if you can be stoic, so can I."

"Yeah, but me being stoic won't make any difference to how long I'll be in pain."

"What do you mean?"

"Trying to control yourself like that can make your labor longer. It can even stop you progressing."

"Really?"

"Yeah, so they say."

"So what? Should I scream? I don't think I want to scream."

"God, please, no screaming. But not holding your breath might be a start."

His voice was dismissive, cold and sarcastic, and he made Kelly feel stupid, as if what he was saying was obvious and she should apologize just for making him use up the oxygen having to state it aloud.

"Okay. Sorry." Her own voice was getting quieter and quieter. It was her usual pattern – when confronted by any conflict or aggression her natural response was just to try to make herself as small a target as possible. It was why she liked her job: she just had to process numbers and put them in spreadsheets and email them to people. She barely even attended meetings, which was just the way she liked it.

"Didn't you do a class or something?" he asked. "You look like the kind of person to do a class."

"Yeah, I did."

"So do whatever they told you. I imagine holding your breath wasn't advised."

"No, it wasn't." Seeing as they were having what passed for a conversation, Kelly asked the question on the top of her mind. "So, are you a real doctor?"

"What do you mean 'a real doctor'?"

"I mean a medical doctor? I thought Stacy was the doctor and you were a lawyer, but I didn't know what kind of doctor."

He gave a small, genuine smile, but it was only for a second, and then it disappeared behind his usual scowl. "Yeah, she probably has the better bedside manner. Not so good with the difficult patients, though," he added cryptically. He paused. "But in answer to your question, yes I'm a medical doctor. Specialties in infectious diseases and nephrology. Not obstetrics. But I can pull out my homework from med school if the snow doesn't let up."

His aggression made her feel small and silly, but his boasting just plain irritated her. "Excuse me if I don't think that's exactly reassuring."

"Do you need reassuring?"

_Did she?_ She had the awful thought that she probably did, but the need to keep some semblance of control meant she just made a "pft" noise at him.

He got up and staggered over to a large bookshelf. He knelt down with agonizing slowness and reviewed the bottom shelves for a moment before selecting a large text book, at least two inches thick. He turned, more quickly than Kelly expected, and threw the book at her. She flinched, but he'd thrown precisely and the tome landed with a heavy thump on the cushion next to her – right where he'd been sitting.

"See that?"

Kelly looked at the cover: _Williams Obstetrics 10__th__ Edition._

"I've read it. Feel better?" he said dismissively.

"I read a book on space once, doesn't mean I can fly you to the moon." The retort came fast and was out of her lips before she had time to think whether or not it was wise.

He surprised her by chuckling at that. "Yeah, well if you don't have a baby and we avoid NASA, both of us will be just fine."

She couldn't help a smile at his lame joke and he smiled back. Well, some kind of facial expression that passed as a smile.

His cell phone rang out just then, interrupting the almost comradely atmosphere that had just developed.

He stood up, grasping the bookshelves for support. When his weight went on to his right leg, he staggered and let out a grunt of pain and the shelves wobbled ominously. Kelly gasped in apprehension, but he regained his balance before anything toppled over, then limped across to where his cell phone perched on the arm of the sofa.

"House."

The voice on the other end spoke for a few seconds before he switched the phone to loudspeaker so Kelly could hear it too.

"—telling me there's very little chance they'll get to you tonight."

"But they—"

"House, we just had a crew in here who'd attended an MVA around your neighborhood. They barely made it here, said the roads are all but impassable. They told me it would be more dangerous to try to get to you and then get her to the hospital than for you both to stay there and take your chances."

"Crap."

"You want me to get an OB on standby? I can get them to give you a call, talk you through it."

"I think I know how to deliver a baby, Wilson."

"You sure? It's been a while."

"You just need earplugs and a catcher's mitt, don't you?"

"House." The voice was concerned.

House sighed and gave Kelly a faintly disgusted look. "Text me the number of someone I can call if I need to."

"Okay, I'll send through Dawson's cell number. And call me any time."

"Yeah, the oncologist is sure to have a lot to offer."

The other man ignored the insult. "I've signed on to work in the ER til morning, so I'll be available."

"Sounds like fun."

"Take care, House. Don't . . . well . . . call me if you need to."

He hung up the call and sat down heavily. "Damn."

He seemed genuinely surprised by the news, whereas Kelly had already pretty much come to terms with it. After speaking to the 911 operator earlier, she'd almost resigned herself to giving birth alone. Now at least she had company. Medically trained company with an obstetrician on speed dial. It could be worse.

"It'll be okay," she said.

He sneered at her reassurance. "Oh yeah, it's gonna be a barrel of laughs."

She swallowed hard. "Do you want to . . . I mean, should you . . . examine me?"

"No."

"But I thought you would want to—"

He gave her a withering look. "Yeah, I was just sitting here minding my own business, thinking, gee I hope a pregnant woman turns up so I can look at some pussy."

His comment made her angry and flustered, but Kelly was annoyed with herself that her embarrassment won out over her anger. She cringed into the corner of the sofa. "I didn't mean—"

"Ah, forget it."

Kelly wondered if that was what passed as an apology for him.

He stood up again, turning away from her. He leaned one hand on the sofa for balance and stretched out his bad leg with a low groan, vigorously rubbing his thigh. "If everything's going okay, I don't need to look at you until the kid's about to come out," he said, his voice tight. "In fact it's better not to – we're not in a hospital, nothing's sterile. The less we poke around in your vagina the better."

"Oh." _He could have just told her that in the first place?_

Another contraction spasmed across her belly and Kelly let out an "ah" of pain, the first vocalization she'd allowed herself. Suddenly unable to keep herself contained any longer, she pushed up from the sofa and paced to the door, almost as if she planned to throw it open and run away. But instead she turned and walked back to the sofa, bracing her hands on the back of it while she struggled to gain control of her breathing again, her eyes closed and focused inwards.

When she opened them again she found him staring at her. They each leaned on opposite ends of the sofa for support, unknowingly echoing the other's pose.

Suddenly, more than anything, Kelly wanted to get away from him. Away from those hollowed, empty, blue eyes that did nothing but reflect and magnify pain. Even another room would do. Would _have_ to do.

"Um, do you mind if I lie down?" She gestured towards the bedroom, uncertain, because she didn't know what to expect from him. He might just as easily tell her to lie on the floor.

He gave her a short nod and then looked away, back down at his leg.

Kelly gathered up her towel from the sofa and walked down the hallway, feeling that rollercoaster sensation once again. The car was slowly climbing the precipice and she had no idea how she'd react when the descent came.


	2. Chapter 2

House had always been uninterested in obstetrics. He'd had to do the class, rushed through the compulsory rotation, bored to tears by it all. Being an OB was, in his mind, nothing better than working in a sausage factory. Although at least sausages came in different flavors.

He didn't understand his fellow med students' reverent awe about it. On his rare trips home relatives would inevitably ask, "Have you delivered a baby yet?" as if it was some kind of rite of passage. His answers, along the lines of, "No, but I had my hands in someone's rotted guts yesterday," just used to embarrass his mother.

It was just that almost every childbirth followed the same process. Step one, step two, step three. Swap partners. Now round we go again. Only with screaming.

Every now and then something went wrong, but not often enough for it to be interesting.

No puzzles to be diagnosed except the most obvious one: why people would do it in the first place. Generally each one ended with a rush of emotion, celebration and elation; loving families created, extended. House's own experience with families tended to make him suspicious of all those gushing feelings – how long would they really last? Would they be good parents? Would the kid end up a thug or a Nobel Prize winner?

The only way he'd found to keep it interesting was trying to guess if the dad really was the dad. He wondered if there were signs, a way of telling if the guy who was losing feeling in his hand and being sworn at was the wrong guy. He thought it could make an interesting paper but, not interesting enough.

He let out a sigh and pushed the heavy obstetrics textbook to the floor before flopping down on the couch again.

Something about _tonight's_ events _was_ interesting though. Like how Kelly's interruption to his evening felt like divine intervention – if House believed in such a thing. Intervention he wasn't yet sure he was happy about.

He'd been lying on the sofa, his third glass of bourbon in his left hand. With his right, he'd flipped a Vicodin vial around and around between his fingers.

Thinking.

Stacy was gone. He actually wasn't sure how she'd managed to last as long as she had.

Wilson and Cuddy were pushing him to return to work, but the constant, mind-blurring, life-shattering pain in his leg made him wonder if that would ever be possible.

House knew ending his life with a slew of drugs and drink wasn't the most elegant way to go. Or even the most effective – there was always a nasty chance of surviving, perhaps making yourself a retard in the process. But if you made a decent enough job of it, the odds were pretty good unless you were found quickly, medical intervention applied promptly. And with that storm outside . . .

_Maybe_, he had thought, he could just try it and see what happened. If he died, he died. If he didn't well . . . he couldn't possibly be any worse off.

His thinking wasn't compulsive or irrational. He was just considering his options. He'd literally been flicking open the lid of the Vicodin when there'd been the knock at the door.

Amusing really.

If forcing him to deal with bringing a new life into the world was some omnipotent entity's way of making House rethink the value of existence, then it was in for a rude shock.

House did not _do_ life lessons.

But still, he picked up his laptop, returning to the pages he'd been reading earlier. He wasn't quite as confident as he'd made out to Wilson, because Wilson was right, it had been a very long time since he'd assisted in a delivery. He knew that if everything went smoothly, he really had a very small part to play. It was just if things _didn't_ go smoothly that he'd be put on the spot. And House didn't like being unprepared. Looking as if he was unprepared was one thing, but actually being unprepared was another. He wasn't lying when he said he'd read that text book. But the book was almost twenty years old. Things hadn't changed that much, though, from what he'd read so far. The only thing that surprised him was how much emphasis the current literature placed on the birthing partners and medical practitioners these days. That was certainly new since he'd studied the field.

_A caring and supportive practitioner, whether midwife or obstetrician, is proven to reduce anxiety and stress in the laboring woman. This has the flow-on effects of reducing labor time, easing the transition stage, and lowering the mother's perception of pain levels. It can also have a positive influence on clinical outcomes such as reducing tearing, fetal distress, and an overall decrease in perinatal complications. _

His neighbor was pretty much out of luck, he thought. "Caring and supportive" he could sometimes fake, on a good day. Today was not a good day.

But, he supposed, he probably should start taking an interest in what was going on. He had no monitors or equipment, but he could discern the basics without it. And then he just needed to check on her occasionally, make sure it all kept moving, then be there to catch the kid when it emerged. Other than that, they could stay out of each other's way – in separate rooms even.

It wasn't like he really had a choice, he thought, looking out the window to the storm howling outside.

He got up and made his way to the bedroom, collecting a stethoscope from a desk drawer along the way. He found her walking back and forward between the bed and the bathroom.

When she noticed his presence, she looked over at him, a guilty expression on her features. "I didn't want to lie down after all."

She seemed to cringe away from him as she offered her excuse, as if she would be in trouble for pacing instead lying down, and House felt a little bad that he'd been so rude to her so far. Her mouse-like nature and constant apologizing grated on him, though. He was used to women who stood up to him; who wouldn't take his shit.

_Yeah, and that had worked out so well with Stacy_, he thought ruefully.

"Look," he said, stopping in the bedroom doorway. "You have to realize that I'm the kind of person who says what he thinks. If you're going to get offended every time I say something, I'm just going to get more annoyed and you're just going to get more offended."

She stopped her pacing and looked at him directly. "Can you please try to speak more civilly to me?"

Her voice wavered, but her gaze didn't. He could see that her fists were clenched and he wondered if she was really that afraid of him. Probably not – if he was her he'd be way more concerned about the job ahead of her than the asshole being mean to her.

He shrugged. "I'll try, but I can't promise anything."

Her fists relaxed a little. "Thanks."

House took the few steps over to the bed and sat down. "So, if you're gonna have this baby here, there's a few things we need to organize and I need to know some stuff."

She looked nervous again, but this time he was sure it wasn't his behavior concerning her.

"Okay."

"Sit down for a second, just so I can check your vitals."

She sat down on the edge of the bed near him, clearly fidgety.

He took her pulse and made a guess at her blood pressure.

"Lie back." He pushed on her shoulder and she lay back. He palpated her belly, easily locating the baby's spine and head – perfectly engaged, face down, textbook positioning for a normal delivery. He used the stethoscope to try to check the baby's heartbeat and got a good enough sound to reassure him there was no distress.

So far so good.

"What did your obstetrician say at your last appointment? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, everything was fine."

"Hmm."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yep, you're all good. So's the sprog. You can sit up now."

She sat up and was only upright for a moment before she leaned forward with an "oomph". He could hear that she'd finally remembered her breathing exercises and she was huffing and puffing just the way she was supposed to.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, House reached over and rubbed her back, making wide circles over her lumbar region with the flat of his hand. It was kind of calming, just continuous, monotonous motion. Kind of like pacing when his thigh was burning.

After a while her breathing returned to normal and she sat straight again. House removed his hand instantly.

"Thanks," she said, her voice quiet, not looking at him.

He nodded.

She got up and started walking again. "It doesn't hurt so much this way," she explained.

"Do you have any food upstairs?"

"What?"

"Food. Do you have any? I'm starving, my fridge is empty, and if an ambulance can't get through, I doubt the pizza guys will make the effort."

She sighed. "Yeah, there's food."

"Keys?"

"In my coat pocket."

He rose from the bed, grunting as the weight went onto his right leg. He wondered if he'd ever not be taken by surprise – forgetting and then remembering all over again that his leg was wrecked, his life ruined.

"Will you be able to get up the stairs?" she asked him, watching closely as he leaned heavily on his cane. "I can go."

House seriously thought about it. Which one of them was less debilitated? In the end, pride won out. "No, I'll do it."

He grabbed a couple of shopping bags on the way and pulled on a leather jacket and scarf before locating the keys in her discarded coat pocket. He took the stairs carefully, one at a time, making a mental note not to bring too much back down – he'd need one hand to hold the banister and his cane, and he couldn't afford to be too unbalanced.

In her apartment he opened the fridge and frowned at the healthy contents. Fruit, vegetables. _Tofu, for Christ's sake_. But in the freezer section he hit the jackpot. Frozen TV dinners, ice cream, chocolate pudding. He gathered all that, some bread, juice and cheese from the fridge, and loaded it into one bag. Then he went into her bedroom and found a large overnight bag sitting open by the door – too big for him to carry with the food as well. It held a rather unattractive nightgown that buttoned all the way up the front, pajamas, Kotex, some CDs, a book, an unopened package of several pairs of men's jockey shorts, diapers, a blue bunny-patterned blanket and some blue and white onesies with matching tiny hats. He grabbed as much of it as he could fit in his other bag, leaving the CDs once he noted the word "Enya" on one of them.

His teeth were starting to chatter as he finished, and he fully understood why Kelly had knocked on his door. It really was freezing in the apartment.

He made his way down the stairs even more slowly than he'd gone up them, weighing his balance carefully against the bags in his hand. He couldn't help a small stab of pride when he reached the bottom, intact and unharmed. But the pride turned into disgust in an instant. _Being proud of climbing stairs?_ He used to run marathons. His anger at how his life had turned out bubbled up again, and he felt the urge to hit something, to punch his fist into something hard and focus on the hurt of that.

He paused in the hallway, breathing heavily – more from anger than exhaustion. He turned to the wall and slammed his hand at it, pulling back at the very last moment so his knuckles just tapped against the plaster.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to reel in his rage. Hitting the wall wouldn't achieve anything. He'd just have a bruised, possibly broken, hand, which would be no use for delivering a baby.

After a long moment of taking deep breaths, he turned back towards his door and stepped carefully forward.

Kelly was waiting in the living room when he opened the door and slammed it behind him, the last remnants of his anger giving in to that childish need.

"Are you okay? Did you find everything?" Her anxiety was painted all over her face.

House limped into the kitchen and dumped the bags onto the counter, leaning against it for support.

Kelly rummaged through the bags, sorting out what he'd brought into food and her own supplies. When she spied the package of underwear, she blushed, but grabbed it straight away. "Thanks."

"Welcome. You can put that TV dinner in the microwave," he said, gesturing to the box. "What is it?"

"Chicken curry." Kelly did as he asked, before putting the other groceries away into his refrigerator. She left out the carton of orange juice and poured herself a glass.

"Wait," House said as she raised the glass to her lips.

"Have this instead." He rummaged in a cupboard for a moment and produced a long-life pack of apple juice.

She wrinkled her nose. "I prefer fresh."

"Trust me. You'll thank me later."

House grabbed the orange juice she'd poured and drank it in one long gulp.

Kelly turned abruptly and walked out into the living room, a low rumble in the back of her throat letting him know she was having another contraction.

He waited until he could hear that she'd started breathing evenly again, watching the frozen meal spin around in the microwave.

"How far apart?" he called out to her.

"A bit less than five minutes," she answered.

He opened the apple juice and poured her a glass, taking it into to where she leaned on the sofa. "Here, drink at least a little of this."

"Okay." She took the glass from him. "I'm going to take it into the bedroom. I think I do actually want to lie down now."

House nodded and went back into the kitchen to attend to his late dinner. He checked the clock – it was after midnight. He stretched, not feeling sleepy, exactly, but tired. Probably an effect of his planned drunkenness being interrupted halfway through. Oh, and his planned attempted suicide too.

He watched the timer tick down on the microwave, his mind strangely blank. His earlier rage had faded, he just felt pathetic and in pain all over again.

Once the curry was done he poured it onto a plate and grabbed a fork, heading into the bedroom. Kelly was lying on the bed on her side, her eyes closed. Figuring it was better to leave her alone, he went back to the living room and put the TV on to something other than the depressing weather news. He ate hurriedly – the frozen meal didn't deserve anything else – and washed it down with the remains of the bottle of water he'd opened earlier. It wasn't satisfying and with alcohol not really an option, House realized what he needed was coffee.

He dumped the plate in the sink and filled the coffee maker, turning it on and relishing the gurgling noises it made. While the coffee percolated, he took the laptop into the bedroom and left it on the bedside table, noting that Kelly was still lying in the same position, still asleep. He went back to the kitchen and poured himself a coffee, not waiting for the pot to fill, and returned to the bedroom. He perched himself on the other side of the bed to his sleeping guest, propped up on pillows, and sipped his coffee as he continued reading the research he'd found.

He was absorbed in one particular journal article about the world's most bizarre birth defects, when he realized that his coffee cup was empty.

He checked the clock and was surprised to find it was almost one-thirty. He reached over and shook Kelly's shoulder.

"Wha—?" she mumbled incoherently.

"Kelly, wake up."

"Am awake," she protested sleepily.

"You've been asleep and your contractions have slowed down. You need to get up and get moving again."

Kelly stretched but stayed facing away from him. "Why? Isn't that good?"

"Not particularly."

"Aw." She whined, like a grumpy teenager, but did what he said, sitting up and rubbing her hands over her face.

"Get up and walk around, like you were before."

She turned and blinked at him, seeming to finally come to her senses. "You got in bed with me."

"No. I sat on the bed next to you."

"Oh."

"There's a difference."

"Yeah. Okay."

He hadn't given any thought to the intimacy of their position. Besides, things were going to get a whole lot more intimate before long. "Walk around," was all he said.

Kelly stood up slowly, one hand on the bedpost for support. Once she had her balance she began walking back and forward between the bed and the bathroom door like she'd been doing earlier. "So, what happened with you and Stacy?" she asked after a while.

"What?" House had gone back to reading the online journal article, but his head flicked up in surprise at her question.

"What happened?" she repeated. "Why did Stacy leave?"

"What on earth makes you think I'm going to talk about that?"

She shrugged. "It's the middle of the night. We're both awake. I was just making conversation."

"Well, make conversation about something else."

"Alex cheated on me."

_Something other than that, too_, House thought. "I didn't cheat," he said, wondering why he was even wading in with that.

"We were going to get married. I got pregnant earlier than we thought, so I decided to hold off the wedding. Then a month ago he started staying late at work. And then I found a condom in his pocket while I was doing the laundry. When I asked him about it, he hit me. And I hit him back. Then he moved out." She sounded extremely matter-of-fact.

"Sounds like you got lucky."

"Yeah, I think you're right. Me and Gumby will be better off."

"Gumby?"

"It's my name for him." She rubbed her hands over her belly, continuing to pace back and forth as he'd instructed.

"So it's definitely a boy?"

"Yeah."

She looked down and smiled, one of those infuriatingly mysterious Madonna smiles, and House thought that if she was his partner, if this was his baby – _if he was a different person, whole, uninjured, worthy of a family_ – it would have been a moment that he'd have wanted to photograph.

"Stacy left because I couldn't bear for her to stay."

Kelly turned to look at him, surprised, but not half as surprised as House was himself.

"Why?"

"She . . . she stopped believing in me. And I couldn't stand being like this around her."

"Like what?"

"Miserable. Miserable and in pain." It was like some trapdoor had opened and stuff was just coming out, things he'd never planned to tell anyone, let alone a stranger.

"But you'll get better."

He shook his head. "No. I most likely won't. I'm stuck this way. And—" _It's all her fault_, he added silently.

"It will get better," she said, her tone convincing. "Even if your pain doesn't. It will."

"What, time heals? That's crap."

"It's not crap. I have to believe that."

He heard the tremble in her voice and realized now probably wasn't the time to tell her than being a struggling single mother was probably only marginally better than being married to a wife-beater. "Yeah."

"And then maybe you and her can give things another try."

He snorted at her optimism. "I doubt it."

"Well, maybe you'll meet someone else."

The idea hadn't even occurred to him. The very idea of getting naked with someone – both literally and figuratively – scared the crap out of him. He could barely stand to look at his thigh himself. How could he expect someone else to?

"Maybe," he said, his voice betraying his doubt.

"I wonder if I will," Kelly mused.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I'll be a single mom. For a while I'm not going to even have time."

"Yeah, I guess."

"And I'm not very good at meeting people. Alex kind of . . . pursued me. I loved him. At least, I thought I did."

"You're shy."

"Not really shy, I just . . ." She paused in her pacing to think. "I don't really like people." She laughed at herself. "God, that sounds awful."

"Actually it sounds kind of sensible."

"I don't mean that I don't like _people_. I like some people quite a lot. I just don't really like the effort it takes to talk to people when you're trying to get to know them, I never know what to say."

House shrugged. "I know the feeling."

"And I don't like bullies or people who talk really loud."

House figured there would be countless hours of therapy required to unwind that one. He didn't want to go there. "I don't like people who don't speak their mind, who don't tell the truth. And that means almost everyone."

"What, you think everyone lies?"

"Sure. You lied about being pregnant when you arrived."

She colored slightly. "I didn't lie. I just had more important things on my mind, like not freezing to death."

"Yeah, but you already suspected you were in labor, and you didn't mention it."

"I guess."

"_Q__uod erat demonstrandum."_

"Is that French?"

"Latin. It means you just proved my point."

Kelly dragged her cardigan off. "I'm hot." She gave a short laugh. "God, it's so good to say that. I was worried there for a moment that I'd never be hot again."

"It was pretty cold up there. When did the heating stop?"

"This morning. I kept fiddling with it, thinking it would come back on. And then I spent the afternoon on the phone trying to get a repairman to come." She stopped suddenly and turned to look at him. The color drained from her face. "Oh, God, I'm gonna throw up."

"Bathroom's a good place for that," House suggested helpfully.

She ran – well, kind of waddled fast, House thought – and seconds later the sounds of retching came from the bathroom.

"Hope you aimed right," he called out. "Cause if not, you're cleaning it up."

There was no answer except for more retching, then the running of water and more retching. He knew he should get up and check on her, but he was actually as comfortable as he could remember being for days. He made a mental note that reclining on the bed like this, with the computer in his lap keeping his thigh warm, was actually rather relaxing. He could do without the gross sounds from the bathroom, but otherwise things weren't too bad.

Kelly appeared, a minute or so later, looking pale and shaky.

"I know now what you were saying about the apple juice," she said.

"Yep. Tastes the same each way."

She nodded.

"Orange juice makes you feel as if your throat has been burned raw."

"Wish I'd known that when I had morning sickness."

"I must make a note to write a paper on it."

"Oh." Kelly's eyes went wide. "Oh, oh, oh. OH!" She reached out blindly and stepped towards the bed, grabbed the bedpost and bent over to rest her forehead on her hands. She moaned, long and low.

"Finally," House said.

A few moments later, when the pain had passed, she looked up at him. "'Finally' what?"

"You're in active labor."

Her face fell. "What, only just now?"

"Yep."

"But it's been ages."

"I know. I was beginning to think I'd miss my starring role, the rate you were going."

She stared at him. "You were pissed with me for turning up in the first place, asking you to help me, and then you were pissed because you might miss out?"

"I wouldn't say pissed—"

"I don't understand you."

Her eyes blazed. She was angry, House realized. He wasn't going to deal with that. "Fine." He shoved the computer to one side, lifted his bad leg and got up, grabbing his cane and heading back into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't bother answering. Her question provoked a huge, unpleasant wave of déjà vu. He'd been storming away from yet another argument with Stacy a few weeks ago and she'd asked just the same thing. And he'd rounded on her, swearing and spitting, asking where on earth she _expected_ he was going, given that he could barely walk a few feet without stopping to take painkillers. Wasn't it enough that she'd crippled him so he could never _go_ anywhere, ever again? He'd been beyond furious, white hot rage clouding his vision. But he'd seen enough to know – she'd flinched. For the first time, since it all happened, his courageous, determined, indomitable Stacy had flinched. And _that's_ when he'd known it was over.

He stood in the kitchen in front of the coffee maker, both hands on the counter.

_Would it ever get better?_

For an insane moment he felt jealous of Kelly. The next few hours were going to be hard, but after that, things would be different. She might be worse off as a single mom, that was of course a possibility, but the physical pain would be mostly over. At least she knew that. His pain on the other hand . . . Would he ever get used to it? Would he ever find a way of overcoming it? Would he ever get over the grief of leaving his past behind? Stacy, golf, running, lacrosse, standing around for hours at a crowded jazz gig, _medicine_ . . .

His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Luckily it was still sitting on the sofa, so he had a chance of getting to it before it rang out.

"House?"

_Wilson again, of course. Who else called him these days? _"Yeah, Wilson."

"Is everything okay?"

"It's peachy." _Even Wilson would pick up on that level of sarcasm._

"How's she going?"

"Slowly. And way too talkative for my liking. Any update from the paramedics?"

"Nothing you want to hear."

House realized the background noise that had been there in Wilson's previous call was missing. "You still in the ER?"

"Taking a breather in my office for an hour or so. The flood has slowed a bit, but probably only because people can't physically get in to the hospital."

"Cuddy must be going nuts."

"Yeah, she's been looking a little stressed. But she's been hands on, too, taking patients just like everyone else."

"Sounds hideous."

"Hey, you didn't escape, even without leaving home." Wilson gave a small chuckle.

"Yeah."

". . . need to . . . think about it."

House could barely make out Wilson's words; the signal was breaking up.

"Wilson? You're breaking up."

"House? Call me if . . ."

The signal died out and House didn't bother trying to call back. He figured it could be just network congestion from all the panicked idiots calling each other, but it could also be the tower being put out of action because of the snow. It made him realize that he probably need to get things organized now, while they still had electricity. It was entirely possible that the heavy ice could take out power lines. And then they'd be left without heat or light.

He checked the fireplace and a few embers were still burning. The basket of wood was reasonably full, and he decided to let the fire die out. No point wasting the wood now if they were going to really need it later. He put a pot of water on the stove and lit the gas under it. Into it he threw some scissors and his sharpest kitchen knife – although that wasn't saying much. He just hoped it wouldn't be necessary. He found a packet of replacement shoe laces in a kitchen drawer and chopped one in half and threw it in the water too. Boiling them all for half an hour would be as sterile as he'd be able to manage at home and would probably be sufficient.

"Kelly?" He walked into the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, looking pouty.

"What?"

"We have to get organized now."

"What do you mean?"

"Get towels and things ready. You won't want to do it soon."

She sighed heavily but nodded. "Okay."

"We need to put clean sheets on." He began pulling off the ones already on the bed.

"Yeah, really," Kelly said, standing up and helping him. "When was the last time you changed them? They're kind of stinky."

Her tone was light, but he was insulted. "I'm a lonely cripple, remember?" he said bitterly. "Changing sheets isn't easy."

"You're doing okay right now," she pointed out. "It's not that hard."

House rounded on her. "Don't you _begin_ to tell me what I can and can't do! You have no _idea_ what it's like," he spat, ripping the sheet from the bed.

She looked at him, hesitating as if she was going to cower away like she'd done before. But for the first time, she stood her ground. "You can do whatever you want. You just might have to ask for help occasionally."

"Shut up." His tone was still nasty, but had lost some of its heat.

"I tell you what. I owe you big time for this. When I get home, after Gumby's settled, I'll be your housekeeper. I'll just come once a week and do some of this stuff for you. I can even do your groceries if you leave money out."

"Sheets and towels are in that cupboard over there," he said through gritted teeth, ignoring her offer.

She shrugged and opened the cabinet in the corner that he'd pointed out. She pulled out a pile of towels – all the towels were white, a little quirk of Stacy's – and a set of navy blue sheets, similar to the ones that had already been on the bed.

"No, get light colored ones. Hopefully the towels will catch it all, but if not, I need to be able to keep track of how much you bleed."

She put the blue ones back and pulled out cream ones. "Well, if nothing else, I promise I'll do this lot of laundry," she said with a forced smile, her cheeks flushed.

They made the bed together in silence, Kelly stopping once to breathe and moan through a contraction. House took the opportunity to take a Vicodin, the reaching and bending involved in doing the bed really was hurting him.

He left a pile of clean towels at the end of the bed and gave another three or four to Kelly once she was back to normal. "Put these in the living room."

"Why?"

"In case we end up in there." House figured there was no point telling her his worries about losing electricity and heat. Besides, the residual heat in the apartment would last them several hours. The fire would be just to stave off the chill and to make sure the newborn didn't get cold once it was out.

He went to the hall closet and fished out a flashlight, relieved to find the batteries were still working, and in the bathroom he found a box of latex gloves that he must have liberated from the hospital at some point, although he had no memory of doing so.

In the kitchen, the pot was boiling away, the knife and scissors clinking together as the bubbles surrounded them. He found a large bowl and took that back into the bedroom, putting it to one side. Kelly was arranging things in easy reach on the nightstand – the bunny rug, baby clothes, her nightgown, sanitary pads, underwear.

"Why men's underwear?" House asked. It had been bothering him since he'd seen it in her bag.

"It's big and comfortable," Kelly said, sounding slightly out of breath. "And way cheaper than women's. Apparently it's easier to throw out than try to wash."

House sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard. "I think you lied earlier."

"What?" Kelly looked up at him, startled. "I didn't lie; I just didn't want to say anything in case I was overacting."

House waved dismissively. "Not that. When you said you don't like people."

Kelly hoisted herself on to the mattress, sitting awkwardly cross-legged, facing him. "Why do you think that was a lie?"

"You just offered to be my housekeeper."

"So?"

House sat up straighter to make his point, bringing them face to face. "So, you must like people a little. I'm a really hard person to like and you just offered to do something nice for me."

She stared at him. "Wouldn't you do a favor for someone who helped you out?"

"Probably not."

Her eyes began to widen and her breath caught in a way House was now aware predicted the beginning of a contraction.

"Oh, this is really starting to hurt," she said breathlessly.

"No shit."

She closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her forehead against House's shoulder. Her belly was pressed against his arm and he could actually feel the clench as the muscles drew inward, the rippling across her abdomen as the contraction did its work. Strangely, feeling that gave him an unexpected insight.

_Pain sometimes had a purpose_.

Did his?

Distracted, House just let Kelly sit there, leaning against him, as she breathed in and out, trying to manage her hurt.

He'd pretty much assumed that it was going to be difficult, if not impossible, to resume his medical career with his injury. But maybe it gave him an edge. He knew what it was like to be a patient, to be in pain, now. Not that new-found empathy was going to be an edge – no that wasn't it. But he had an inside view into it, how the body worked with it, and around it, and against it. His powers of observation had always been one of his main strengths. Now he felt like he'd just added a new dimension to them.

He just had to find a role that would allow him to apply it all and work with his new . . . _limitations_.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi everyone, I know I said four parts, but on re-reading it, I decided it worked better in three. So this is the final chapter! Thank you all so much for your lovely comments.

If you squint hard, you can see this month's Fox Forum Friday Night OC Challenge prompt in this chapter: 'House admits he's happy'.

--

* * *

Kelly was starting to get weary and weak from the contractions. Just when she thought they'd let up, her breath finally caught, she only had a few moments before another one came along. He'd been right – if they'd left organizing the bed and towels even a few minutes longer she wouldn't have been able to manage it.

She realized she was still leaning against him. He was letting her, but he seemed distant, in another world. She pulled away from him and lay herself down on the bed, head on the pillows, facing him. Her eyes closed for a moment, just relishing a few seconds of peace. When she opened them again, he was still sitting there, in the same position, staring off into space.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Pain," he answered eventually, sounding distracted.

"That must be fun."

"Hmm. Fun, no. Practical, yes."

"Practical?"

"Hmm."

He wasn't going to share his thoughts. That was fine with her. But talking helped keep her mind off what was happening. About the fact that all the lovely pain relief options she'd discussed with her doctor were no longer available to her. He might want to think about pain: she wanted to think about anything but.

"What's nephrology?" she asked, once another contraction had passed.

"Huh?" He seemed to come to, his eyes refocusing on the room.

"Nephrology – I think that's what you said. Your specialty."

"Kidneys."

"Doctors specialize in kidneys?" Kelly was surprised, she'd never heard of that.

"Doctors specialize in all parts of the body," he said condescendingly, making her feel stupid again. "Haven't you heard of cardiologists? Neurologists? _Proc_tologists?"

"Yeah, but not nephrologists." She paused but decided to plow on. "I know you've read the book, but have you delivered a baby before?" she asked nervously, remembering the fury in his eyes when he'd thrown the textbook at her.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have."

"That's good." Kelly did feel relieved to know that. "It must be the best job of being a doctor."

"Why does everyone think that?" he said irritably.

"Because the rest of it is sickness and death, and this is about life."

"Yeah, but it's boring."

"_Boring?_" That certainly hadn't been what she'd expected him to say. "Why?"

"Because it's always the same. There's nothing to figure out. Nothing to solve."

"Solve? You sound like more of a detective than a doctor."

"Now_ that's_ the best part of the job."

"What, being a detective?"

"Yeah. Getting a patient with symptoms that don't add up and finding a way to make them make sense."

"Is that a specialty?"

"Diagnostics, I guess."

"So why don't you do that?"

He fell silent again and his gaze did that thing again, looking as if he was somewhere else entirely. Completely absorbed by his own thoughts.

Kelly squirmed as she felt her body gather itself together and then the contraction hit, making her curl into it. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his hand in hers, putting all her focus into that. She stared at his hand, made herself notice his long fingers, lumpy knuckles, the veins that made prominent tracks under his pale-ish skin. She counted the lines in his skin where it gathered against her fingers, watched the beds of her fingernails turn white and pink with effort.

When the contraction eased she released him and he took his hand back with a muttered "ow".

Kelly wanted to keep talking, but found she didn't have the energy. She lay there, curling into contractions as they came, and he sat by her side, careful not to let his hand stray within grabbing distance again. He stared off into space a while longer, but then he pulled a pen and notepad out of a drawer and began writing, drawing circles in some kind of diagram. She wanted to ask him what it was about, but just watching him concentrate and watching the pen move over the paper was somehow hypnotic.

After a while he got up and Kelly swallowed down a sudden panic that he was leaving. Of course he wasn't, she told herself, where would he go? She heard him peeing in the bathroom – he didn't bother to close the door behind him. Then he went into the kitchen and he came back with another glass of apple juice.

"Try to drink at least some of this. I've watered it down."

Kelly sat up a little and took a few sips, nervous about how it might settle in her stomach, but relishing the cold liquid in her dry mouth. "I am thirsty," she said. "Thanks."

At that, he disappeared into the kitchen again and she heard loud banging. He returned a few minutes later with a coffee mug full of broken up ice. "This might be easier."

She was in the middle of another contraction, so he put it on the nightstand.

Kelly had lost track of time, but she knew at least a few hours had passed since they'd been sitting together on his bed. Now all that existed was the pain of the contractions, the moments between them when she would suck on some ice, and the silent man next to her. It was still dark, though, and the wind still howled menacingly outside.

"That TV is really annoying me," she said suddenly. It had barely been a conscious thought, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized that the drifting noise of canned laughter from the other room was enough to put her teeth on edge.

"I'll turn it off."

"Did you bring down my CDs? I didn't see them."

"No, I, ah . . . couldn't fit them in. Don't worry, I'll put some music on."

He got up from the bed, grimacing, as he always did when he had to put weight on his leg. Kelly wondered how much pain he was in. Would he really be like that forever?

A few moments later the irritating noise ceased and Kelly blew out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. Then came the sound of a gentle guitar strum and a low male voice singing, something she didn't recognize, but it was nice enough.

She felt the urge to get up and walk around again, but once she was on her feet, she realized she was pretty unsteady. She held the bedpost with one hand and took the few steps available to her without letting go, back and forward. When he returned to the room he stood in the doorway and looked at her for a moment.

"You should probably lie down again."

"Why?" She remembered one of the women in her birthing class telling her about how doctors always wanted women to lie down, but only because it was more convenient for them.

"Because if you fall or faint, I can't catch you or pick you up."

"Oh." She had been all ready with an argument about obeying her body's needs, but what he said made sense. She was about to climb onto the bed again when another contraction made her freeze where she was, gripping the bed tightly. Once it passed, she looked up and her eye was caught by a gap between the curtains. A street light shone onto a world of whipping white, and it made her swallow hard.

An idea came to her. "Do you have a car?"

He gave her a suspicious look. "Yes, why?"

"Is it close by?"

"It's the third lump of white on the left," he said, standing closer to her and peering out to see what she was looking at.

"We should drive to the hospital," she said, turning to face him. "Why didn't we think of that earlier?"

He made an exasperated sound. "Because it's a 'once in a century' killer blizzard out there?"

"But—"

"Even if we could manage to dig out the car – which, I might add, would be a few hours work for a non-pregnant and non-crippled person – we'd then have to clear the roads ourselves."

Kelly felt the burn of tears behind her eyes and a lump rise in her throat that made swallowing painful. All of a sudden she felt very, very sorry for herself. "But I can't—" She stopped herself, her bottom lip trembling.

His shoulders slumped. "Come on, get back on the bed." His voice was kinder than she'd heard it before, and she let him direct her back onto the mattress, piling up pillows behind her back.

"Greg?"

"Kelly?"

"Alex was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be helping me."

"I know."

"What if I can't do it without him?" The idea terrified her. She missed Alex, but she didn't want a man like him in her life either. Watching her mother bounce from one abusive relationship to another had been enough to make Kelly vow she'd never do the same. But what if it was a pattern that was impossible to escape?

"He was an asshole."

"I know. But . . ." Kelly felt fidgety, irritated, panicked. She squirmed against the pillows behind her, unable to get comfortable. It felt like she'd never be comfortable again.

"I think it would be a good idea to put on that nightgown," he said, nodding to the table next to her. "The buttons will make it easier for later. And then I probably need to look at you."

"No." Kelly shook her head. She knew what he was saying. It was almost time. But she wasn't ready.

He ignored her. "Can you do it by yourself?"

"Of course I can!" Her shouting surprised her, but he didn't even blink.

"You get changed and I'll go wash my hands."

Bottom lip pouting like a petulant teenager, Kelly managed to undress and slip the nightshirt over her head, only pausing awkwardly once with her dress over her head when her stomach convulsed again. She sat back down against the nest of pillows, trying to calm herself down; trying find a way to sit comfortably.

He returned to the room and the first thing she noticed was that the shirt he'd been wearing over his t-shirt was gone. And he had on a pair of those yellowish gloves, the kind that doctors wore. For no logical reason, the sight of that produced a flood of pure terror inside her.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she muttered, inching across the bed as if she was going to run away, while another contraction seized her, longer than ever before.

"Kelly," he sounded exasperated with her again. The kindness from before had vanished. "Remember your classes? Did they talk about transition?"

Yes, she definitely remembered that word. Her brain felt as if it wasn't working properly, because it took a few moments before she made the connections. Transition – it happened just before you started pushing. The teacher had said that sometimes it was the worst part of labor, because it often created overwhelming feelings of . . . "_Panic_," she whispered, finishing her thinking aloud.

Somehow he'd followed her rambling train of thought. "Exactly. So it's not real, just a reaction."

"Feels pretty fucking real to me," she ground out.

He lifted one eyebrow, looking entirely amused by her swearing.

"Just so you know," she warned, "I'm gonna cry."

"If you must," he sighed, and she promptly burst into tears.

He examined her while she cried, which was good in a way, because although she was near hysterical she was still acutely aware of the embarrassment of having him look at her like that. The tears were a distraction and also blurred her vision, so she could pretend that because she couldn't see it, it wasn't happening.

She heard the snap of him taking the gloves off and he went back into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a wet washcloth that he pressed into her hands. "Here."

Her breath was coming in hiccupping sobs now, and she could only manage a strangled gulp when the next pain seized her.

"Kelly! You need to calm down."

She felt him grab her wrist and realized faintly that he was taking her pulse. He then put on a stethoscope and pressed it to her belly.

"Shush!"

At his barked command Kelly didn't know whether to be quiet or cry harder. She just felt totally out of control. This was the drop in the rollercoaster she'd been dreading and it was even worse than she'd expected.

He grabbed her chin with one hand, forcing her look at him. "Kelly? Listen to me. You have to calm down. You're making the baby's heart rate go up with these hysterics."

"No-o-o," she wailed. She was doing everything wrong.

"You need to think about the . . . _Gumby_. Think about Gumby."

_Gumby._

Kelly held the cool washcloth against her eyes, trying hard to bring herself back together. It was hard, because the pain was barely even letting up for a minute, but she forced herself to swallow hard and to try to focus on the cool pressure of the cloth against her hot face. She felt hot all over, shaky and sick.

"That's better," he said, and Kelly figured that counted as praise, but she wasn't sure. She felt like she'd lost all ability to think or reason. All she could do was swim from one fog of pain to the next.

"It's too soon to push, but it won't be long."

His words seemed to come from a long way away. "I don't care." _Did she say that?_

"Yes you do. You really do, or you wouldn't be here in the first place."

"No. Take it away." She pushed the washcloth towards him, it was hot and messy now, no longer comforting. But she wasn't sure if that was what she actually meant by her words.

"Do you want—"

"Just be quiet!" she snapped.

He was silent for a moment, but then he chuckled. Kelly managed to haul her eyes open for a moment to find him sitting at the end of the bed, watching her, amused but somehow sad.

"It's not nice to laugh at me," she said, pulling on her nightshirt, not sure why she'd been worried earlier about him looking at her, because suddenly her modesty didn't seem nearly so important as making it through this alive.

"I'm not laughing at you."

"Certainly sounds like it."

"Nope. I'm just thrilled to hear the real you."

"What?"

"You should have told me to shut up about a million times tonight, but that's the first time you've actually managed it. Good for you."

The fact that he sounded so calm, bored almost – just as he'd predicted – actually made Kelly feel a little better. If he was relaxed, then things _must_ be okay. This must be normal.

But a noise, halfway between a whimper and a moan, was all she could provide in response.

"What do you need?"

_What did she need? _She wasn't entirely sure. "Ice," she gasped. _It was a start. _

He shifted up the bed and grabbed the mug, holding it for her as she sipped, most of it melted to liquid now.

She fell back against the pillows; a moment of peace.

It didn't last long.

Another pain seized her, and she leaned forward, as best she could in her seated position. He was still next to her and she grabbed him convulsively, hanging on to his surprisingly solid arm. In a hazy part of her mind, she expected him to pull away, as he had when she'd impulsively grabbed his hand. But instead he shifted closer, raising himself somehow, and she let her weight hang from his strength.

When she had breath, she spoke. "_That_. That's what I need."

He nodded; she felt the movement rather than saw it. "Okay."

--

* * *

Kelly's transition phase of labor lasted for almost an hour. It wasn't abnormal, but it had to count as one of the longest hours of House's life.

His thigh was burning with pain from supporting her, and his arm ached, but she wouldn't let go even long enough for him to take a Vicodin. By the time she did, falling back into the pillows, taking that brief moment of rest mother nature occasionally granted the laboring woman, he wasn't sure which of them would have won the prize for being in the most pain. Still, she couldn't pop a pill the way he could, so for now he had to give her the ribbon.

He got up and paced around, shook his arm to restore the circulation and stretched out his leg as much as it would allow. He refilled the cup with ice and collected the now-sterilized items from the kitchen, putting them out of sight for the time being.

He shook out a couple of towels and Kelly barely twitched when he slid a fresh one under her legs.

Belatedly he realized his cell phone was still out in the living room, so he grabbed it and brought in back into the bedroom – in easy reach if he had to call that OB.

In the bathroom, he washed his hands as if scrubbing in; having a strange flashback to a surgeon he'd once done a rotation with. _First and last skill of a surgeon, House_, he'd lectured as they scrubbed. House had been warned by fellow students about this particular doctor. _Get your scrub right, and you'll ace with him – it's the only thing he grades._ Yes, yet another of those doctors who only paid attention to one thing. When there was so much more to look at, each disease was a jigsaw, pieces needing to be put together to see the whole.

The notes and scribbling he'd done earlier were to capture his thoughts on exactly that point. He had an idea for a department, a group of specialists that would only take the most complicated cases, the ones no one else had been able to solve. And using the process of differential diagnosis, they'd dissect the case, testing theories, trying treatments, solving the puzzle. His obsessive compulsion to read case studies and new research, along with his almost photographic memory, would be perfectly suited. No rounds and no surgeries and no stinking clinic duty – less standing and walking. Fewer patients to interact with – a happy side benefit.

It just might work.

"Greg!" The plaintive wail from the other room disturbed his thoughts.

_Show time._

"Just a minute." He pulled on gloves and then went through the same washing ritual all over again because they'd come from a cardboard box and weren't the sterile surgical kind. Perhaps that old fart surgeon had had an impact on him after all.

When he'd left her she'd been dozing, but now it was clearly all systems go.

"It's coming," she said, panting heavily. "I need to push."

"Wait, just let me make sure you're fully dilated."

House parted her knees but didn't need to look any closer. "Whoa Kelly, Gumby's about to make an entrance. I hope you've got a better name picked out, 'cause he's going to need it soon." The hour of agonizing transition had done its job, and the baby's head was almost crowning.

Kelly pushed her body up, her elbows back against the pillows. She let out a long howl and House was reminded of his joke to Wilson – what felt like days ago – about a catcher's mitt. Because within a minute he had the baby's head in his hands, and a few seconds after that, his whole little body was out.

Kelly was sobbing or laughing, he wasn't quite sure which, but House's attention was focused on the baby. He quickly cleaned off its face, cleared its mouth and nose, and rubbed its torso vigorously with a towel. It was terrifyingly still for what felt like a very long time, but all of a sudden the little face screwed up and turned pink, uttering its – _his_ – first weak cry.

"Give him to me. Please, I want to hold him."

House lifted the mewling infant and lowered him on to Kelly's stomach.

"You got him?"

"Yes. Oh, God, yes." She was definitely sobbing now.

Once he was satisfied Kelly had decent grip on the slippery little kid, he opened up the last clean towel and spread it over them both. "Keep him warm, okay?"

House quickly got up and located his stethoscope and the sterilized things he'd put away earlier. He moved easily, his aching thigh completely forgotten in an unexpected surge of adrenaline.

"Right, let's check Gumby over," he said, returning to Kelly's side. He pulled back the towel and carefully turned the baby onto his back, still resting him on Kelly's stomach, taking care with the umbilical cord that was still attached. He tucked the towel back around him and then checked the baby's hands and feet, listened to his heart with the stethoscope, and gave him a tickle. In response, the baby sneezed and kicked his legs.

"Bless you," House said, and Kelly laughed through her tears. He looked at her and smiled. "Perfect score."

"He's perfect."

"Looks all right to me. For a baby," House admitted grudgingly. But he knew his smile gave him away.

House tied off the umbilical cord in two places with the shoelaces he'd boiled earlier and then, after a moment, cut it between. "Put one of those little hats on him," he said to Kelly, and she carefully leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed one of the blue ones she'd set out. The baby stopped crying for a moment while Kelly gently fitted the hat over his head, but as soon as that was done, he picked up the squawky wailing again.

"Try to get him to nurse."

Kelly's own crying had abated and now she murmured quietly, soothing little noises, and House watched the infant come to terms with his environment. He seemed to look intently at his mother as he suckled, almost staring at her, although House knew it was unlikely he could actually focus well enough to see her. But the two of them gazed at each other and House had the distinct feeling of being the third wheel in the room. He shook his head and bustled around to clear the thought.

It wasn't like he cared, anyway.

"What's the time?" Kelly asked suddenly, looking up at him. Her voice was hoarse.

House frowned and looked at the clock on the nightstand. "Six thirty-eight."

"I should write that down, I'll never remember it. My brain's mush."

"I'll write it down. What's his name? I'm not going to call him Gumby. _Anymore_," he added hurriedly, realizing he'd already used the nickname several times.

"Benjamin. His name's Benjamin." House duly wrote it down: _Benjamin, 6.38am_.

After five minutes of nursing Kelly began to wince again.

"You should probably put him down for this part," House suggested.

She shook her head. "No, I want to hold him."

"What if you need to move around?"

She looked uncertain, testing House's patience. "Look, just put him down here on the bed, next to us." House made a little nest out of the quilt, to make sure the baby couldn't accidentally roll off. Not that that was remotely a possibility, but he knew it would make Kelly feel more secure.

By the time he took the baby and settled him, House was only just in time to catch the afterbirth in the bowl he'd brought in for that purpose. Like the baby it came fast, which wasn't necessarily a good thing, but it seemed intact and after a quick inspection House came to the conclusion that Kelly's body was remarkably unharmed. Not a bad thing when he had absolutely no way to do anything about it if she wasn't.

"You're all done, now. Put on a pad and that men's underwear you're so hot for." House went into the bathroom and stripped off the gloves and washed his hands again. His t-shirt had a couple of spots of gore, so he returned to the bedroom and stripped it off, quickly pulling a fresh one over his head.

"I want to have a shower," Kelly said, looking up from her rapt admiration of Benjamin.

House shook his head. "Nah. You might faint. And someone needs to watch this little guy."

"Please," she pleaded. "I feel revolting. I'll make it lukewarm and really quick. If I do it now I'll be fine. I know I won't be in about ten minutes, I'm going to crash, but right now I'm fine."

"Yeah, okay, but take it slow," House agreed reluctantly.

She stood up gingerly and grimaced. "I feel like my insides are going to fall out."

"Just remember I was the one who said this wasn't a good idea."

She was true to her word though, the water only ran for a minute or two and when she returned she was wearing the other set of pajamas he'd brought down from her hospital bag. Her hair was combed and tied back, no longer sticking wetly to her skin, and her face had a healthy pink glow. House realized she was actually quite pretty.

In the meanwhile House had piled all the dirty laundry in a corner, happy to note that the bed probably didn't need to be changed right away. He repeated the Apgar tests, put a diaper on the still-mewling Benjamin and then swaddled him up tightly in the blue baby wrap which seemed to quickly calm him down.

Kelly crawled back onto the bed and carefully settled herself. "I was wrong about the ten minutes," she said, her head tilting to one side to look at her son. "I'm exhausted."

"Exhausted? After that? Pft, that was a walk in the park." He quirked up one side of his mouth so she knew he was joking. "Apart from that bit when you tried to rip my arm off."

"A walk in the park?" Kelly's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"That was one of the easiest births I've ever seen." He was being honest. It really had been.

"Totally boring, huh?" She gave him a cheeky smile.

House pretended to stifle a yawn and she gave him a playful swat on the arm.

Kelly's attention returned to the baby. "I want to hold him, but I think I'm too tired. I'm scared I might drop him."

"You can hold him later."

"Yeah. He looks like he's napping now."

They both looked at the sleeping infant.

"Where can we put him?" she asked.

"Ah!" House got up and walked over to his drawers. He pulled out one of the lighter, smaller drawers at the top and put it down vertically at the end of the bed. It was filled with t-shirts, so it already had lots of padding in place. House rearranged them and then opened one out like a sheet. He picked up the sleeping baby and gently transferred him into the makeshift crib. "Just like _Little House on the Prairie,_" he said, for a moment stupidly proud of himself.

Kelly had watched him with a hawk-like gaze as he moved her son around, but now that he was safe and settled, she squirmed lower in the bed, resting her head on the pillows. Her eyes closed and House was sure she was asleep just seconds later, her exhaustion overwhelming all else.

As for him, the adrenaline that had been keeping him energized and pain-free was definitely starting to wear off. He pulled out his Vicodin vial, trying to remember the last time he'd taken one. He'd been taking them regularly throughout the night, he knew, so he'd have to watch his dosage through the next day. It probably didn't matter too much, he thought, shrugging and popping a pill anyway. The Vicodin was a short-term thing, in a couple of weeks he was due to swap it for something less dangerous to his liver.

He lay down on the other side of the bed, tiredness and exhaustion creeping into him bit by bit. Careful to place his feet so they didn't knock the drawer, House closed his eyes and moments later was asleep.

--

* * *

The chime of his cell phone woke him. He grabbed it instinctively, before he remembered everything that had happened, and realized there were the sounds of other breathing in the room. The facts came back in a rush.

He looked at the caller ID and flipped open the phone. "Wilson." He kept his voice low.

"House, how are you? Hadn't heard from you for a while so I started to worry."

"Good. Tired. What's the time?"

"Around eight."

"Too early to be awake yet."

"Why are you whispering?"

"The mom's sleeping."

"Oh. How's she doing?"

House sat up and looked at his two unexpected bedmates. Kelly was sleeping deeply; the cell phone ring hadn't disturbed her. Thankfully House seemed to have got to it before it woke the sleeping baby too. He was still swaddled and looking just as tired as his mother.

"Wilson, meet Benjamin. Benjamin, meet Wilson." He held the phone close to the baby and right on cue he made one of those gurgly-squeaky noises in his sleep – unmistakably the sound of a newborn. "Good boy," House praised.

House put the phone back to his ear.

"It's a boy?" Wilson asked.

"Yep."

"Damn it, House, I could swear you sound almost happy."

"Happy? Don't be ridiculous."

"Go on, admit it, it's a relief that everything worked out okay. You should be happy."

"I am not, and never will be, happy. But I have two healthy patients. That's as close as I get."

"You are a stubborn asshole," Wilson said with a fond chuckle.

"With pride."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

House eyed the pile of soiled towels in the corner. "Actually . . . You could come over later and do some laundry for me."

"Sure." His tone got more serious. "I was back in the ER and I spoke to the crew I talked to last night. They think they can get someone out to you sometime this morning. They're waiting on a report from the snow plows, but you're definitely on the list."

"Thanks, Wilson."

"Welcome."

"Now, can you bugger off, so I can get some sleep?"

Wilson laughed. "Get some sleep, House."

--

* * *

By the time the paramedics arrived around lunchtime, Benjamin had had his first proper feed, first diaper change, and was once again asleep. Kelly was uncomfortable but otherwise fine. The briefing from Wilson hadn't seemed to get through to the paramedic crew, though, because they insisted on heaping applause on both of them for managing so well alone – praising neighborliness they said they rarely saw. Once House realized they didn't know he was a doctor, he held up a hand. "But I'm a—"

"—detective," Kelly interrupted, giving him a conspiratorial grin.

The paramedics nodded as if that explained everything and continued with preparing Kelly and Benjamin for transport to the hospital.

"I don't even feel like I need to go hospital," she remarked.

"What, you haven't bothered me enough?" House grumbled.

Kelly hesitated for a moment and she looked uncertain, embarrassed, just like when she'd first knocked on his door, but then she smiled. "Don't forget to leave me a key and your grocery list," she replied smartly.

House couldn't help smiling in return.

"Ready?" the paramedic interrupted.

Her smiled faded and she grew serious. "Greg? I don't even know how to say this, but, thank you."

He shrugged. "You did most of it."

"You helped." She reached out and squeezed his hand briefly before the paramedics started to wheel her away. "You can do it too, you know," she said over her shoulder.

House frowned as he watched them disappear out through his front door. _What did she mean? He could have a baby too? Yeah, right. When hell froze over – icing up the flying pigs along the way._

After they were gone, House realized his apartment was strangely silent. He sat down on the sofa, a strange mix of feelings running through him – although tiredness was pretty high on the list. Automatically he reached for the bottle of bourbon still sitting out from last night's aborted plans. He lifted the bottle and was about to pour a shot, but then he paused and set it back down.

Instead, he reached for his cell phone and dialed.

"House? Everything okay?" The female voice was crisp, but he heard the underlying concern.

"Yeah, fine." He paused. "Cuddy? I think I'm ready to come back to work." He took in a deep breath and let it go in a rush. "I've got this idea for a new department."

.

The End


End file.
